Timothy 02: Tim2 (3 page)

“They’re coming,” I said softly. Just as I shut my ‘hatch’ I heard Clementine ask what he should do. I told him ‘survive.’ And then I sat back in utter blackness and solitude. It was as good a time as any to reflect on my life and see how long I was going to have to pay the Piper for my penance. Oh the joys of growing up Catholic; glad I wasn’t saddled with all that guilt they try to push.

I killed someone when I was seventeen. Did he have it coming? I guess maybe he did, he shouldn’t have intercepted the ball. It was the State Championship game we had gone undefeated the entire season. Then our idiot quarterback gets into a car accident two days before the game, breaks two ribs and his wrist on his non-throwing arm. I told the pussy he should still play.

The coach didn’t agree. We end up with our greener-than-Ireland freshman quarterback. Idiot could barely hand off without fumbling. We were down 14-12 late in the fourth quarter and we were driving – no thanks to the QB. After I got called for a penalty (tripping) we found ourselves at third down and long. It had to be a pass, we knew it, and they knew it. Our QB hadn’t thrown anything past the line of scrimmage the entire night. We were screwed.

Fitzgerald, the QB was lined up in the shotgun, Dunnehy, the center, snapped him the ball, and then we did what we’d been doing all season long, we protected the glory boy quarterback. I looked over to make sure the back judge was looking elsewhere and I gave my blocking responsibility a hard nut shot. My fist slammed off his cup and into his – I’m sure – beloved jewels. I laughed as I heard his sideline screaming for a penalty. Fitzie was still dancing around the pocket like he was in a dance marathon.

“Throw the fucking thing!” I yelled at him.

The blocking had collapsed on his right-hand side and he was about to be planted into the ground. Well, he let it go; a shot duck would have had a better flight pattern. The ball wobbled like a fat girl’s tits on a treadmill. It was not pretty. The defense was eyeing the prize and it was not difficult to see what was going to happen here. I started to run down to where the ball was eventually going to land. The cornerback for the other team, Lajohn Wilson, made the fateful decision to out jump the competition and pull that ball out of the air.

His feet hit the turf and he was off to the races. He avoided being tackled by the wide receiver and juked his way out of the path of our running back. That, however, brought him my way. I don’t know if he thought he could get past me or if he was so focused on the end zone he missed me. But I caught the little bastard flush on, my arms hit him in the chest, I grabbed his jersey as I lowered my head, my helmet coming into hard contact with his own. I would later tell people that he must have broken his neck when I drove him into the ground. But no, it happened from that collision. The sound was so loud, so intense, it sounded like I had taken my helmet and dropped it off a ten-story building – that at least covered up the sound of his neck snapping. I watched his eyes, though, mostly because we were face mask to face mask and there wasn’t much else I could look at. But he knew when his neck snapped. I mean, his eyes got this wild glaze of panic. That’s really the best way I could describe it. He knew something terrible had just happened to his body, but his mind had yet to realize the scope and breadth of it.

I made sure that my forearm crushed down on his throat as I landed on him. The fucker should have just swatted the ball down, not try to make himself the hero in MY championship game. I felt something move to the side as I brought my entire 250-plus pounds down on his windpipe. He started gagging for air, and he couldn’t even signal anyone to come over and help him. He had completely forgotten about the pigskin at some point when his neck became disconnected from his spine. I’m not initially sure whose hands got on it, but it was our running back that finally picked it up and ran the subsequent winning points into the end zone.

“Please,” the cornerback said to me as I took my time getting up off of him. But hey, I’m a good sport if nothing else. I grabbed his hand in mine to pull him up. His head flopped back like a broken bobble head doll. Both sets of fans gasped. I thought to drop him back down quickly, but since all eyes were now on me, I put him down gently and waved over to the sidelines. That was pretty much a wasted gesture as the trainers from both sidelines were already rushing in. I walked away and congratulated our running back, while both teams were taking a knee as the injured player was being cared for.

“Dude, get down, man,” Henderson the running back was saying to me. “That guy’s hurt.”

“I just wanted to say great touchdown, man!” I was all smiles as I came over.

“What happened to him?” Henderson asked as I got down on a knee next to him.

“He ran into the Tim Train. It didn’t work out so well for him.”

“Is he going to be alright?”

“Do I look like I give a shit? We’re winning.”

“There’s more to football than winning,” he told me in all seriousness.

“You’re full of shit, right?”

He got up to get a better view. The ambulance came onto the field and finally, after a half an hour, they got his broken ass off the field so we could finish the game. The coaches wanted to suspend the game indefinitely but decided they would honor the cornerback by playing. Basically their rationale for continuing when common courtesy says they probably shouldn’t, thereby disproving my stupid running back’s earlier remarks. It IS all about winning.

We ended up winning the game; the other team had just completely lost the will to play. That didn’t stop me from hurting another kid. He should have been paying more attention, not my fault his brother was in the hospital.
Oh shit…yeah it was!
I was smiling.
Well now they can be roomies
. Broken collarbone was infinitely better than snapped neck though.

A week later I was forced by my coach into visiting the vegetable, good PR or some bullshit. The newspaper was going to be there and it would look good for my college career. I went. The kid had one of those huge contraptions attached to his head, the kind with the screws drilled into his skull, it looked painful. His eyes shifted as I came in. A dawn of recognition twisted his features into a mask of hatred.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

“Came to see how you were doing. Although I don’t really give two shits. I’m waiting for the newspaper to show up, they take a picture and then I’m going to do something you can’t.” He didn’t bite. “Walk out,” I told him.

“Docs said if you hadn’t moved me, I might have been able to walk.”

“Sucks for you.”

“I’m going to sue.”

“Over an injury on a football field? Good luck. Even if you won, what do you think I have? My mom and I live in a shitty little apartment, my car is older than I am, and my bank account is in the single digits.”

He was crying.

The reporter took that awkward time to walk in. He thought the tears were something akin to joy at my heartfelt apology. He took our picture. I was smiling as I grasped the limp and lifeless hand of whatever his name was. He died while I was in college of some sort of complications arising from his injury. Nothing ever happened about the lawsuit – not that I was overly concerned to begin with. So that was technically my first murder, and really my only one. I couldn’t be held accountable for all the ones that I had done as a zombie, right? I can’t imagine I’d spend all that much time in Hell for one indirect murder. I was feeling pretty good about it when I once again felt the familiar unease as Hugh began to pry around the edges of my internal fortress. He knew something was there, he just didn’t know what or how to get around it.

Then the screaming began, stupid Clambake was shrieking off into the far reaches of his brain with Hugh in close pursuit. Did I care? Not really, had never been much of a people person. More of a people parts person, I enjoyed the hands of anybody that was handing me something I needed or wanted…and pussies. The rest of it was wasted matter as far as I was concerned. With that being said, I wasn’t quite done with Clandestine just yet.

“Hugh!” I screamed, coming out of my hidey-hole. I felt him stop short, clearly confused with the encountering of two conscious entities. But that didn’t stop him, he was now in full on attack mode. “Hugh!” I screamed again. “Remember me? We’re friends!”

Were we though? We definitely had a symbiotic relationship; we kept each other alive. Had I made a tactical error by showing myself? How much would Hugh remember? My guess was that our relationship was housed in the memory banks of the body that lay at our feet. That was the master computer, so to speak. Me and Hugh were now what had fit on a pin drive before we moved into our new pc. I’d like to say it was an upgrade, but I’d seen his dick.

“Hugh, buddy, it’s me!” I told him, giving him the signals – I was upraising my hands.

I could feel him rippling through Clodhopper’s head. Clod moaned as Hugh did so.

“What’s it doing?” Clarence wailed.

“Shut up and be still for a minute or we’re both going to be in trouble. And I will hurt you bad if you fuck this up for me.”

Clarence was quaking, again, something not so new and unusual.

Hugh wasn’t a thinker to begin with; damn near made me look like Socrates. And this new curve might take him a minute to wade through, if at all. It was okay; I had nowhere else to go. And if negotiations didn’t go well, I knew how to make him see reason. (Funny, I assumed Hugh was a ‘he’ when the more likely scenario was it was female. What else could insidiously crawl into your head and mind-fuck you? Female, for sure. I wonder how it would feel about the name Hughette?

Hugh was moving in closer even as he was trying to understand what was happening. He was smart in that regard.

“We’ve done this before, Hugh.  Are you sure you want to do this again?” And then inspiration hit, I knew his weak spot. “The sooner we move past this point the sooner we can eat.” Well that was the hot button.

“EEAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTT!!” Hugh roared.  It was pretty frickin’ loud in the confines of our enclosure. “Hungry!!” he bellowed again.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked, tempting fate. I’d had time to think about this since our first go around. Was Hugh self-aware? Predators were always smarter than prey, it was just a matter of skill sets needed. What the fuck does a gazelle have to do but graze and run for its life? That’s about it. The lion has to plan, coordinate, stalk, and defend. Sort of the same with women. What do they have to do? Eat and fuck and…oh yeah…shop. Doesn’t take a big brain for that. Us men, well you have no idea the amount of planning it takes to get into a woman’s pants. Don’t let anyone tell you it isn’t a hunt.

“I am hungry!” he bellowed.

We were making headway.

“Who are you?” I prodded.

It was long torturous moments before he spoke again. And still he advanced cautiously, stalking his prey, but I wasn’t a stupid grazer. He’d be in for a hell of a fight if he kept coming.

“Hugh, keep prodding that wormy brain of yours before you attack!” He was getting closer. “Just because they say ‘history repeats itself’ doesn’t mean we have to.” I started hastily erecting barriers.

Clapboard’s mind began to quake as Hugh nestled himself into every aspect of it. He was taking hold, more like deep-rooting himself really. “I am Hugh!” he grumbled.

“That’s my boy!” I clapped. “And who am I?” I asked.

He was searching through Clarence’s head for the proper vocabulary. “Other?” Hugh spoke.

“NO! Not other!” I yelled at him. ‘Other’ equated to ‘bad’ in Hugh’s world.

If Clarence had gears in his head they would be spinning.

“Feed me!” Hugh beckoned. “Feed me, Timothy!!!”

“Now we’re cooking with hot entrails!” I told him. “Same game?” I asked.

The long whirring of his brain processing the request and then I clearly saw the symbol for question.

“I find us food and you keep the house in order,” I told him. The question mark changed to an approving nod.

This time I clapped real hands as Hugh released the reigns. I was back in business. Fuckers beware!!!

“W-w-what’s happening?” Clarisse asked shrilly.

Me and Hugh might have an understanding, but that in no way included Claustrophobia. Hugh was in full on pursuit of the invader, which was actually a strange way of looking at it because, technically, Hugh was the invader. But since the house was now his, I guess that was how he processed it.

“Hugh, I’d like to keep Other for a while,” I told him.

“Other bad!” he retorted.

“This one not so much. He’s more of a pasty fuck, and he has the added bonus of knowing where a bunch of food is located.”

“FOOD!” Hugh cried excitedly.

Plus I wanted to tell him that he made about as much titillating conversation as some of the passed out chicks I’d banged. Not that it truly mattered, because I was comfortable being in my own skin. Then I laughed. I mean internally and externally as I thought of my joke.

I reached into the pouch attached to Clarence’s right leg. I pulled out what I had hoped it was. I leaned down to my body, and went to work.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Clarence was screaming from some point behind me. I could hear him retching and gagging, which was followed immediately by silence. My ministrations on my old body had caused him to pass out. Right now that was preferred.

“Eat now?” Hugh asked almost begging.

“Soon, my friend. Just have to take care of a couple of things. You should tend to our thigh wound.”

‘A couple of things’ took a little longer than I had expected, but doesn’t everything worth doing and doing right take longer? I had to appease Hugh only once--found a drugged out teenager hiding behind a stack of milk crates in the little convenience store. I was more than a little pissed that he was so stoned he really didn’t even know I was eating him alive until I started chewing through his femur. That got his attention pretty quick though.

I ripped through his jeans and his thigh easily enough. The long, thick muscle was vibrant in color and texture as I chewed through it. I’m not sure what Hugh does to enhance human teeth the way he does, but when I saw that stoner’s leg bone, I knew I had to have it. Screw the dental work. There wasn’t a dog on the planet that had salivated more looking at that pristine bone with meat still on it! I cracked it open on my first bite. The stoner jerked and came up from whatever world he had retreated to.

I dropped one meaty paw over his head pushing him down as I tore through his extremity. He was convulsing as I completely chewed through. I stood up, ripping his leg off. I was now in possession of one giant-sized turkey leg, and I was going to savor it. Stoner’s eyes were huge as he watched me eat his now-severed appendage.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, raising his arms weakly.

“Because you’re so damned tasty,” I told him, tearing through the meniscus that surrounded his knee.

My voice came out entirely too high-pitched. That wasn’t going to do, not at all. I wouldn’t be taken seriously with a treble little bitch-voice like that. No wonder Clarence was a virgin, well…that and his stupid name. Did his parents think it was still 1926?

“Hugh, need a little help,” I told him as a tore off a bloody strip of calf muscle. Stoner was passing out. “Hold that thought,” I told him. I liked my meat – I mean Hugh liked his meat – warm. I had some eating to do before business or pleasure; it really was just a matter of perspective.

***

“Ah you’re awake,” I said to Clarence as I felt him begin to stir.

“This isn’t a dream?” he begged.

“‘Fraid not,” I told him. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

I could sense a small sort of hope surging in Clarence, maybe he thought we decided we didn’t like taking up residency in his body and were even now planning on leaving.

“Look out your eyes,” I told him, smiling.

Clarence did. I’ll give him this; it took him a few seconds longer to start screaming than I thought it would. I don’t truly know what it takes to classify a man as insane, but I’ve got to believe Clarence crossed that bridge that night and I was proud to have driven him there.